|
one night ago
by Uriel Tovarthe lack of comfort tears my
head in two
the sheets aren't
as cold as they should be
and the comforter is starting to lose its charm.
i used to have a pillow
that fit my head
but momma shot it through
the heart with a stake knife
bullet wound
spun around the bend
and i can't find the hole
that fits that down down
downy fresh smell anymore
but i'm hoping that your chest
or maybe your thighs
can cradle my
big bald size 7 and 5 8ths head a little.
i pass time on that mat
inverted and introverted
rocking the clock
from 5 to 10 o'clock
with my feet curved down
touching 9
but i forgot how it feels to have moist
eyelids
cuz those aren't bags under my eyes
but i am carrying a couple of trunks
dragging them behind me in a restless
kind of sleep.
maybe tomorrow night i'll
fall
comotose
sliding my hands
across the velvet satin of
cold sheets
on a night where my dad decides it's ok to
spend a little extra electricity
to warm his bones
but forgets to set the thingy to automatic. 11/10/2005 Posted on 11/10/2005
Copyright © 2024 Uriel Tovar
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 11/10/05 at 01:14 PM I think this works rather well, Uriel. You have ticked what was in your pulse to tick and I sense that ticking and that is all a poet could expect of a reader to feel, the essence and not the concrete, be warmed or chilled by and not feel to the absolute highest or zero temperature of what a poet is trying to communicate. I think all your armatures are in place and you have laid on those armatures the clays the way you saw fit. |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 11/12/05 at 02:53 AM Uriel, I always find such awe in your poetry. The words go deeper than the surface and tear apart all expectectations of what should be, going beyond that. While the words are grounded in life, they also have a surreal quality.
~Chelle~ |
|
